


More Than an 'Off-day'

by Eggy_b



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Author Projecting onto Richie Tozier, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Insecure Richie Tozier, M/M, Richie Angst, Richie has bad parents, Sad Richie Tozier, Self Loathing, The losers club comforting Richie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:54:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21976939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eggy_b/pseuds/Eggy_b
Summary: Richie Seems upset sometimes, but it's never been this bad.ーーーーーーーーーーーーーーーーーーRichie is hurt and anxious, and Eddie wants to help, too bad they both suck at understanding and discussing feelings.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 45
Kudos: 257





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a set of Drabbles I have on my phone from between classes so I haven't really proofread and they may be very Cringey and repetitive.
> 
> My phone keyboard is tiny so I'm fairly sure there'll be typos.
> 
> Warnings:  
> -Minor Injuries  
> -Anxious thinking(?)  
> -Self-hating  
> -Mentions or implied Child Abuse

Richie 'trashmouth' Tozier was ridiculously insecure. 

His mind was constantly clouded by a buzz of anxiety, and with every word he said, it only seemed to grow more brutal. Every second of his life spent alone made him feel like he was being hounded by his own thoughts and he knew that if he didn't fix it somehow, he'd probably let it choke him until he couldn't take it anymore. Either way, Richie hated himself, he hated the things he said, and he was constantly petrified by the possibility that his friends did too.

However, another fact about Richie was that although he was ridiculously insecure, he was ridiculously determined to hide it. He constantly put on a façade as if nothing was wrong and silently prayed that nobody could see through it, fearing the consequences.

He practiced his smiles in the mirror until they looked real and reached his eyes enough to be convincing. He rehearsed his laughs, watching as they morphed into sobs purely because he couldn't do it anymore with the fear of his parents hearing him through the door. Most importantly, he never let himself be sad when he wasn't alone.

It was like an unspoken rule of his that he'd convinced himself was absolutely fundamental. However it didn't seem to help his situation much at all. His constant jokes and obnoxious nature were so overly annoying and fake that Richie couldn't Stand to even hear himself talk. 

He'd open his mouth and spew endless lies, unfunny jokes, smug statements about his nonexistent sex life and no matter what it was about, every one of them made him want to rip his vocal chords out. Sometimes he'd joke about his friends just to find something to laugh about and every line made him more and more paranoid. Trying to push them away never seemed to work, he was too lonely, and should his friends question his positivity, he would fabricate everything on the spot.

He could show up with a new bruise and yet he'll find a way to tell the losers it was an accident and somehow his fault. If they find him crying he'll manage to blame it on factors other than emotions, that God forbid he have. Even if he was feeling soul-crushingly terrible, he would show them his grin and tell them he was more than okay. After all, his friends had it worse, he had no real reason to be sad, and if he couldn't be happy for them, then what use did he have?

Richie could never accept that he might be right, and it was slowly but surely destroying him, because everything he did was wrong, imperfect, wrong, wrong, wrong.

The day the losers found out about any of this hadn't been particularly special though. They hung out in the clubhouse all the time, generally scheduling times for the entire group to meet up, but Richie had not yet arrived.

He would often show up a significant amount of time after everybody else and claim he was being 'fashionably late' and though this was barely tolerable, the losers still grew concerned when he didn't show up. It had been maybe an hour and they were sceptical that he would ever arrive.

The small space was very quiet, the only notable sounds being the occasional flick of a comic book page in Eddie's dainty hands, or Beverly sighing as she took a puff from her cigarette. They had small conversations here and there, however they were so dull it was like listening to white noise. Though they knew why the silence was so eerily consuming, taking Richie's abscence into consideration. 

None of them were particularly good at collective conversations as a group aside from small talk and without Richie, things got boring rather quickly. However, the losers could guiltily admit that his absence made everything more peaceful.

To break the sheen of quiet that fell over the group, Eddie's watch began to beep. The high pitched sound signalled the arrival of a new hour and this caused Eddie's scepticism to grow.  
"Do you think he's ever actually going to show up?" The frustration was evident in his voice, which seemed to gather the attention of his friends. 

Bill looked up from his book, somewhat confused "I muh-muh-mean, he's usually luh-late regardless, ruh-right?"

Eddie rolled his eyes, his brows furrowing in annoyance as he swung his legs over the side of the hammock.  
"It's been a fucking hour Bill, we should probably make sure he's alive."

Beverly giggled from beside Ben, snuffing her cigarette against the exposed ground between the wooden planks on the floor. "You're overreacting honey, just enjoy the quiet."

The hypochondriac's face flushed on anger "Bev! Bowers may be gone but his gang is still out there!"

The fiery haired female's grin faltered but she managed to reassure both herself and Eddie, speaking softly. "He's probably fine, besides, I'm not really in the mood for his jokes today."

In response to this, Stanley closed his encyclopaedia and removed his reading glasses, carefully hooking them to the collar of his shirt.

"Yeah, we can all agree that it's kinda hard to miss him in these circumstances." His voice was calm, and Eddie realised that this was only noticeable from comparison to how he spoke in reply to Richie's remarks.

He bit his lip, an anxious pit forming in his stomach from how torn he felt. Maybe he was being irrational, Richie was fine, he was always fine.

Without saying another word, he manoeuvred back into the hammock, unable to shake how empty it felt without Richie's form pressed against his own. He kept telling himself to calm down, but he couldn't shake his worries without knowing Richie was okay.

Consequently, he had to hold back a deep sigh of relief when a loud creak echoed through the rickety structure. Sunlight streamed in as a familiar Raven-haired male hopped through the hole, completely ignoring the safer option of the stepladder.

"What's up fuckers! Sorry I'm late, I got a little carried away with Eddie's mom, she wouldn't let me leave without round t-" 

"beep beep, fucktard" Stanley interrupted, eyes remaining focused on the floor. Richie laughed at the insult, the sound loud and exaggerated. Eddie felt his heart twinge at the noise, seeing as how it lacked the genuine tone it often held. His worries were further verified when Richie began to walk over to him with a bruised, swollen eye on display. 

Eddie's eyes immediately widened with both shock and worry. He practically flung himself out of the hammock, tripping over his feet as he rushed over to the gangly teen.

"Holy shit Richie! Why didn't you say something sooner?!" His dainty fingers were already fumbling with the zipper of his fanny pack, searching for painkillers or anything that could be of use.

He eventually pulled out a small box, popping two pills from a metallic strip of packaging before holding them out to Richie. The taller boy flinched at the sudden movement and Eddie couldn't pretend that he hadn't noticed.

His expression became laced with concern as he pouted in a way that Richie could only describe as being adorable, the look in his glistening, dark brown irises filled with compassion and sympathy.

"Richie..." Eddie didn't really know what to say in all honestly, somewhat chastising himself for not noticing that Richie was hurt. In fact, he was taken aback when the freckled boy took both of the dusty white pills from his palm, swallowing them dry.

The doe-eyed boy almost fainted as he shrieked in horror at the action. "RICHIE WHAT THE FUCK-"

A loud, boisterous giggle began to fill the air, joined by the others as they lost composure over Eddie's ridiculously exaggerated reaction.  
Richie turned to him, smiling as his chuckles faded.  
"Relax Eds, you should know I'm good at swallowing by now-"

The asthmatic practically screamed in both disgust and frustration, only urging more chuckles from his friends. His cheeks grew red in his embarrassment and Richie's tinted pink as he aimed a soft smirk at the shorter male.

"Relax Eddie-spaghetti, it's not like I was gonna choke or anything."

Eddie folded his arms, glaring at Richie "you don't know that dickwad, and don't fucking call me that!" 

However, the sudden rise in volume and joyless tone caused Richie's shoulders to jolt, and Eddie was once again reminded that the pale boy in front of him was hurt. He felt a pang of guilt in his chest as he watched Richie curl in on himself slightly, as if he were scared.

Slowly, he reached out a hand and loosened his posture. "What happened to you Richie?"  
The most alarming thing was that this prompted Richie's silence. 

Eddie allowed his hand to rest on the taller boy's shoulder and couldn't help but feel a rush of annoyance as he was brushed off by a swift, panicked movement.

He was about to shout in protest before he noticed exactly why he'd moved. Richie mentally cursed himself, considering how the contact wasn't exactly sudden, whereas the rest of the Losers stared, their gazes fixated in both confusion and worry. 

Richie had, out of instinctual fear, raised his arms over his face defensively, presumably startled. He was trembling as his thin limbs hid his clenched yet teary eyes.

Eddie didn't know how to react in the slightest. It's not every day that you see the liveliest, most carefree person you know seem so terrified and delicate. 

Unsure of how to reply, he simply turned to their usual banter as a solution, not really used to talking to Richie seriously. 

Regrettably, he replied with an insulting comeback, acknowledging Richie's habit of avoiding his feelings at all costs.  
"Geez Richie, no need to be such a drama queen."

Eddie knew of Richie's defence mechanism of deflecting anything to do with feelings, and therefore hoped that his response wouldn't be adding insult to the mysterious injury for the taller boy. Though he'd been hoping for Richie to overlook the comment, he really hadn't considered relief as the outcome. 

Richie sighed, releasing a breath that Eddie hadn't realised he was holding. He lowered his arms and folded them over his chest, digging his nails into his palms. Eddie didn't notice this however, glaring in confusion as Richie once again began to laugh, cold, forced, humourless. Eddie was beginning to grow tired of the false happiness Richie was displaying, one more joke and he just might-

"Me and your mom had a bit of a lovers' quarrel-"

That was it.

"Beep fucking beep Richie! You're so annoying sometimes. Can't you be serious for one fucking second?! Learn how to read a room asshole! We're worried!"

Eddie didn't mean to yell but Richie's secretive behaviour was beginning to stress him out, his concern growing masked with annoyance. Richie never talked about his feelings, never. 

At first the hypochondriac had just found it unusual, assuming that Richie was just overly happy-go-lucky, but over time it became obvious that Richie was dealing with a lot of things and plainly refusing to open up.

It was never this bad before.

Eddie desperately tried to ignore the way Richie's eyes glazed over in response to his small outburst.  
Richie knew when to stop joking, generally fearing that if he did it too much he would end up alone, but now he didn't know what to say.

He stumbled over his words and stammered, trying to formulate a response without further angering his friend. His face grew red and he began to sniffle, grabbing both the attention and concern of the other Losers.

"I-uh, sorry, I...I just-" he stammered and mumbled, the tears beginning to glisten as they teetered on the edge of his waterline. He looked around at everyone's eyes on him, mentally wishing he could learn to shut his mouth and disappear. Eddie's gaze softened dramatically, his expression seemingly horrified at by what he'd said. He should know that his screams were no way to express your concern to someone. He too felt like me may cry just looking at Richie's broken expression.

"I think I should go."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The moments leading up to Richie's arrival at the clubhouse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heavy warning for child abuse and homophobia
> 
> I lowkey didn't mean to write this but it exists and Imma use it

Everything was going wrong for him right now, without a trace of exaggeration. It was almost funny how his parents had never paid him this much attention before, and he couldn't even be grateful for it. It was especially hard to, in fact, when you think about the circumstances.

It was his own fault, he knew that, he knew that if he wasn't a disgusting fag then maybe the rumours wouldn't have spread, but it was inevitable really. It started with the stupid graffiti on walls and desks then word got around, as it tended to in a small town like Derry.

Richie was dirty, and now everybody knew it. 

When Richie arrived at his house on Friday, he'd expected the same setting of his mother passed out on the couch or sprawled over the kitchen table, with no sign of his father, and the pungent smell of alcohol polluting the air. It wasn't great, he knew it wasn't, but if Eddie could deal with his mother, then Richie could stand the lack of attention. 

Looking back on it, though, he wished he'd done something sooner. He opened the door as he usually would, quietly closing it behind him. He took his shoes off, placing them on the floor before looking up to meet his mother's hazy eyes. 

Flinching, he waited, hoping for her to initiate the conversation.  
"Hi mom..." He mumbled hesitantly, trying his best to overlook the way her features flickered with disgust.

This wasn't normal, he knew it, he knew he should be surprised to see her waiting for him, he knew he shouldn't be scared. However, the stern look in her gaze sent an uneasy prickle of anxiety burning from under his skin.

She looked him up and down in a quick glance, as he stood stiff and tense under her scrutinising gaze.  
"Richard...I think maybe we should talk...."

Talking was always bad, it generally meant accusations about stolen cigarettes, or disputes about the inconvenience of his existence, always ending with a slap or kick, and teary apologies and empty 'I love you, I'll never do it again' s  
And yet he stayed for it, hesitantly sliding his bag off of his shoulder and taking shaky steps to the living room.

Richie let himself fall into the deflated, blocky sofa, fidgeting with his hands in his lap. His eyes flickered towards his mother as she sighed deeply, straightening her posture as if to assert her authority in their current situation. The Raven-haired boy hunched in on himself, his shoulders tense and his eyes fixated on the floor.

"Richard...." He couldn't hide how he seemed to shiver at the cold tone in her voice. Nevertheless, he fearfully responded  
"Yes mom?"  
It felt wrong to call her that, even more so in a tone of obedience.

Her eyes narrowed at him, and he felt the anxiety clawing at his insides grow more angry. He didn't know if she was angry because of his response, he didn't know if he'd messed up again, he didn't know if he was going to be punished for it. 

His heart was now pounding through his skull, waves of fear washing over him with every beat. He almost had to strain to hear Maggie's next words. "Tell  
me, honestly..." The pounding grew louder, rushing through his skull "are you a homosexual?"  
It stopped abruptly.

Any nervous ticks he'd displayed disappeared as he began to weave his bony fingers around the bottom of his shirt. He gripped it tightly until he could feel his nails through the fabric, burning into his palms.

He stared at the floor, slumped over and trying desperately to ignore the wet sheen over his vision. "No,I...." How was he supposed to respond? Painfully conscious of the potential consequences, he gulped. He knew there was a wrong answer here. "I'm not, mom"

He saw her shoulders tense, her hands grip each other tightly as she tried to contain her rage. "Then tell me, Richard..." Standing, she took agonisingly slow steps, approaching him with her arms by her sides. "Why did I hear that you tried to seduce that poor Bowers child?" She ducked down to his resting height and softly placed her hand under his chin. 

Richie tried to refrain from leaning into the gesture, yearning for the gently touch. It went downhill fast however, when she dug her fingers into the sides of his face, yanking upwards for his eyes to meet hers. 

In his surprise, he'd bitten his tongue, yelping as he was forced to confront her stern gaze. "TELL ME THE TRUTH, RICHIE!" He whimpered at the volume, kicking and pushing at the floor in an attempt to shuffle away. "I didn't mommy! I only asked him to play an arcade game with me!" He couldn't even joke to himself about how much he reminded himself of Eddie. Her grasp was relentless, her hand sliding down to his neck, his fear grew immense as he weaved her fingers into the flesh "Please mommy, I swear, I was just playing, I'm not a fag!" His airway was growing thinner with the force she applied, his breaths beginning to whistle as he wheezed out his pleas.

His hands weakly grabbed and clawed at her wrist, desperate for some sort of mercy. "Please..." 

And shockingly, her grip loosened all at once. He fell to the floor, The wooden planks crashing against his  
knees with a thud. He gasped painfully, almost hyperventilating with his desperation. Looking up, he'd almost forgotten that his mother was standing over him. The moment he'd attempted to stand, pressing his weight into the couch for support in his weakened state, he met her gaze. There was no time for him to comprehend the disgust it held before she was launching her heel into his chest.

She was wearing shoes of course, thankfully ones which weren't dressed with any sort of pointed heel. However, he was still left gasping for breath when she pulled his hair back. His eyes were screwed closed and tears were beginning to seep from under his lashes. Maggie said something, he could hear her muffled voice, but his hearing was focused on his own rapid breaths, the blood rushing through his skull, the sobs he couldn't hold back. 

"I won't have a faggot for a son" she yanked him back further. Cluttering to the floor were his glasses, the loose, plastic arms no longer able to balance against his face. His arms were limp, making no effort to search for them Then somewhat suddenly, he was launched forward. His mother slammed his face into the splintering table in front of him, his hands pathetically hovering over its surface as he tried to push himself back up.  
She continued "Especially not one who lies."

His face was numb aside from the throbbing in his nose and eye. The pain came in sharp stabs and he couldn't register the blackish droplet of blood that had begun to slide down his upper lip. His sobs came freely as his mother finally began to walk away. "You better be gone before Wentworth gets home. I won't have you under this roof."

His first action was to fumble for his glasses, those being his only aid in the current situation. He knew he was crying as he slid them onto the bridge of his knows, the weight of them doing nothing to help the stinging that radiated from the area. Crying softly, he stood up and dragged himself to the door.

The shock of everything overweighed the sadness. He had no home to go back to after this. Surely the weight of the statement should promote more emotion? But Richie didn't want to think about it when he left. He had no mother, no father, no home. He had nobody who loved him, and yet he could barely cry over it. 

He didn't say goodbye as he turned the doorknob, the action excruciatingly slow. The first thing he did when the door slammed behind him was scrub at his face with his hands, smearing the semi-dried blood until it began to peel off in patchy red flakes.

Then, he was grabbing his bike, and heading to the clubhouse. Eddie would be there, and Eddie made him happy, and Richie knew that the Losers would be nice enough not to outright tell him they hate him. He knew that.

He could figure this out later.

So he furiously peddled down the roads. Sniffling, he occasionally reached up to wipe his eyes, chastising himself for his inability to calm down. His lungs felt empty and his heart was still racing, he was on the verge of a complete breakdown. However, he was late to the clubhouse and if he didn't show, they would check his house. He couldn't risk that. What was the problem anyway? He could handle an act for a few hours, right? Because if he couldn't, then what use did he have?

He'd managed to slow his breathing when he arrived, his cheeks still red and somewhat blotchy, but after a few minutes, he figured he'd look presentable. His eye felt heavy but it didn't hurt anymore, but he didn't know if it was the cold that had numbed it. He prayed that it hadn't been long enough for a bruise to form, not wishing for any noticeable injuries as he took a turn into the familiar forestation they hung out in.

Arriving in the woods, he threw his bike to the ground, smiling widely as if to practice as he stood outside. Faintly, he could hear everyone laughing from under the trapdoor entrance, willing his hands not to shake as he approached. 

Breathing deeply, he reached down and lifted the hatch, routinely dropping into the underground space. He could almost since at how loudly he'd entered, plastering a crooked grin onto his face as he always did. Inhaling shakily, he announced his arrival.  
"What's up fuckers!"  
He can put up an act.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry but Richie just suffer for my enjoyment


	3. Ok guys tis chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ok so i accidentally published this before it was done then deleted it so i coukd finish and hnnnnn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking such a ridiculously long time with this, i'm not a great writer and i get distracted very easily :')  
> Also f slur  
> And just general angst  
> Also i didn't proofread lmao

He was homeless, fucking homeless. Sure, his house didn't feel like a home anyway, but despite his family life, he never thought he'd end up here. In this case, 'here' meant trembling and hugging his knees in an alleyway near his school. He hadn't been able to grab any of his belongings, and all he had was his bike. No extra clothes, meaning school the next day ought to be difficult. Why? because kids are fucking cruel and he is a teenager, and teenagers sweat. For a moment, he'd contemplated skipping, it would be a simpler plan and probably benefit him in the long term. Rather than attending school, he could look around for a better place to sleep, not that he would be sleeping anyway. 

However, skipping risked the school calling his parents. That was enough to scare him out of it. His mind was cruel and didn't care for his indecision and began to play out the scenarios behind his eyes. They'd call, his parents wouldn't pick up, they'd check the house, he'd be labelled missing, and once found, social services would wind up sending him to live with his aunt in fucking Indiana.

The other possibility was more unlikely. They pick up, play along because nobody needs to know that their son is a sick freak (if they didn't label him that already) and they seek him out, and Richie thinks that thet just might kill him should they find him. His mother had already choked him without hesitation, so what more would it take from his father's brutality to get rid of him? He'd just be labelled as missing-

Missing....

Despite already beginning to fall into a pattern of hyperventilation, his breath hitched. Apparently the clown understood his fears better than he did. Honestly, he would laugh if the situation weren't so pitiful. That's his job, just laugh. In that moment, he felt selfish, really.

He could always laugh at his friends, but not himself. How self absorbed do you have to be to have that kind of mentality? No wonder Eddie gave up on him. They all did. It's not like he was worth it, he wasted their efforts by playing them off as a joke, and now, with his back clinging to a cold, damp wall in the alleyway he now planned to inhabit, he accepted that. He accepted the responsibility.

He'd slept on the streets before, the occasional night here and there when life at home was especially hard to just 'suck it up and deal with', but that was optional, and now he had no control over how long he'd be lying out in the cold for.

On the bright side,though, he had some form of a plan. If he could take his bike to school early, he could head to the locker rooms and shower whilst practically nobody was around anyway. That way he had some for, of basic hygeine. Clothes, he needed to figure out. There was always that chance that his mother would go back to her blackout drinking, that way he could sneak in and grab his stuff, and if not? Well, lost and found doesn't seem too bad.

Unfortunately for him, none of this could work in the long run. He needed a job if he wanted to eat, and he needed a safer place to stay, and deep down he knew that nobody would willingly offer either to his....kind. That was enought to send him spiralling into bitten lips and stinging tears, but he knew he needed to think about this.

Part of him was calling out that he could steal like bev taught him to, and that was a good reminder for him. Beverly was understanding, all of his friends were, and god he hoped he could still call them that because they'd gotten mad at him in the past, right? They were fine...right?

Richie could accept that he was being irrational. He unclenched his fists and sighed as he pictured the new layout fir the following day. The rest of the losers would probably acknowledge his existence at the very least. That meant that all he had to do was walk up to them like he was okay, and they were okay, and apologise. He didn't have to announce his situation necessarily, he was already demanding before so if he could be discreet, what would be the difference?

He would've labelled himself a genius if he didn't have such a habit of paranoia. The fact that the Losers had fought in the past just means it had happenned more than once, and people could only take so much, and that tolerance was especially weak when it came to Rochie Tozier. Right now, however, he forced those insecurities down, he'd just have to wait until tomorrow, he had hope for tomorrow....

But if it was hopeful, why was he dreading it so much?

On the other hand, the Losers were concerned. Ridiculously fucking concerned to the point it felt agonising as the seconds passed. Some of them had expected Richie to return, to tell them what's wrong, so they could just help him like they wanted to. He needed it, they all needed help sometimes, but this was Richie, and Richie was horribly stubborn.

Eddie was panicking and it was evident to everyone, and so they weren't exactly surprised when he began to cry. When Richie left, he just stood still and stunned, and maybe a minute later he remained. Nobody said anything when they saw his lip begin to quiver as tears began to glisten over his already shimmering doe eyes.

Instead, Mike began to walk over to him, his arms outstretched. Eddie brought his dainty hands to his chest and gratefully accepted the taller boy's embrace. Mike, the saint he is, comfortingly stroked the small male's shoulder as he pushed down his worry. The others watched in some form of fascination before following his example

Eddie wasn't sobbing or wailing or anything along those lines, rather he was clutching his arms and nervously fidgeting as his breath continuously hitched in dramatic, wet bursts. The occasional tear slid down his cheeks and the others watched, pained by the divide within their group. They all felt bad, without a doubt, but the poor asthmatic probably felt the worst.

In fact, it was like a sucker punch to the heart when they heard him brokenly whisper, the sound quiet and pitiful.

"I didn't mean to hurt him..."

Beverly's expression fell further as she took his hand in her own, comfortingly rubbing gentle circles in his palm. "Oh Eddie....he'll come around, he just has trouble talking about his feelings, he'll be okay." She tried to smile up at him in a form of reassurance but her soft tone only prompted more small sniffles.

"But Bevvy he was so sad, and i yelled at him like that, god Bev, how could i do that to him?"

"Honey, honey it's okay, he's okay, you're hyperventilating."

The others had moved to actively patting his back or moving away slightly to let the others comfort the dark-haired boy. Beverly remained knelt in front of him, her surprisingly rough yet well cared-for hands grasping his own. Mike remained holding him to his side, counting as he inhaled like Richie taught him to. He was the only one who could calm Eddie down practically on reflex, but nevertheless, the hypochondriac could follow Mike's soft voice, and ground himself through Beverly's gentle gestures.

Once he'd gotten back on track, he looked at the ground and sighed deeply. He roughly wiped away at the tear tracks on his cheeks, leaving blotchy red marks on his face as he tried to regain his composure. In all honesty, he felt somewhat stupid for getting so worked up, but it didn't feel like it was unreasonable. Anyone would call that an overreaction if they weren't part of the Losers, mainly because this is Richie and Eddie, and they could easily see how much they meant to each other.

They stood in silence for an uncomfortable amount of time before Eddie spoke up. 

"Can we look for him...?" He sounded so unsure that it was somewhat painful to hear. It was like his tone of voice alone pierced your heart with endless sympathy.

"Of course, honey"

Eddie was thankful for Beverly, she was so similar to Richie. Confident, funny, and still so kind. Although, she wasn't Richie and that sparked a twinge in his chest. Either way, she knew how to help him, she had such as caring attitude when she did, and Eddie was almost drawn to it. They understood each other, and Beverly understood that Eddie needed to find Richie.

They clambered out of the clubhouse together, all of their faces carrying both worry and determination. 

"o-okay guys, so w-we should p-p-probably check his house, and the arcade f-first."  
The others began to nod in agreement before Stanley shyly interrupted.

"He um..." the curly haired boy punctuated his words with a hesitant reaching gesture, almost scared to share his knowledge of Richie's habits "He likes to hang around near the quarry or the kissing bridge when he's....upset, sometimes i find him behind stores...we could check those..." 

Bill nodded and began to pedal, followed by Ben and Beverly, Mike then took off alongside Stan, who still looked conflicted, and Eddie was left stood alone. He clenched his eyes shut and bit his lip as his grip on the handlebars tightened to the point his hands began to shake.  
"Always fine my ass. Fucking hell Rich...."

He swung his leg over the seat of his bike and began to try and catch up, doing his best to refrain from crying more than he already had. Honestly, part of him told him he didn't deserve to.

Richie, however, couldn't possibly know that the others were seeking him out. Instead, he'd rather intelligently begun to distract himself via slipping a pack of cigarettes into his waistband and borrowing a lighter from some lanky kid behind the store. Borrowing in this context meant snatching it and absolutely bolting though, clearly, because Richie had a full pack, and he was going to smoke it until he felt better again. 

Unfortnately, he feared he never would.

There was still a cry of guilt picking away at his walls from the indide and he could feel it echo through him, shaking his bones and choking his thoughts. He knew he couldn't live like he was currently planning to, unless he wanted to live under the locker room benches and survive on stolen lunchables, so maybe his best option was his friends? He was unsure, and really, who can blame him, but they were a forgiving group.

He could apologise, he should regardless. Maybe it would be extreme to think he was unforgiveable, and hopefully if he wasn't, one of them could take him in for a while. A distant part of Richie was eager to see what would happen, hoping for the possibility of living with Eddie, of course that was ridiculous, but it led him to pick his bike and drag himself back to the clubhouse.

Whether it was fortunate or not, he didn't cross paths with them on the way. As far as he knew, they hadn't left, so it wasn't exactly surprising. Nevertheless, he was somewhat disappointed to find the small underground space completely empty, and devoid of the life that made it theirs. Regardless of this, Richie sat down and glances at everything surrounding him.

The hammock sure looked better than the pavement, and the clubhouse may not be perfect, but at least it has a roof, right?

Thinking back, the others' bikes were gone. 

He contemplated for a moment, staring absentmindedly at the ceiling and fidgeting with a splintered piece of wood from the floorboards. They wouldn't return, he was sure, they aren't coming back today. The decision was hesitant and impulsive, but maybe, just maybe he could stay here tonight. The Losers didn't need to know a thing.

In fact, the next time they saw him was at school the following day. 

It was almost scary to see him look so happy and carefree, especially after they'd been gripped by such immemse fear in their failure to find him, but they decided not to question it. Everything was normal, or course, why wouldn't it be? Eddie and Richie sat on one side beside Beverly playing noughts and crosses on the back of Richie's math homework, and Richie watched, waiting for Eddie to win. 

The only confusing things to point out were the way that Richie didn't snuggle up to Eddie's side as he usually does, or the way Eddie's fingers traced down Richis's arms as a silent apology, and that that's where their contact ceased. Richie was so quiet that day and it seemed to throw everything off in their usual routine.

Several things to note however, were the fact that Richie was wearing yesterday's clothes, had no lunch or school bag, and had clearly not slept as much as he should have. These in all honesty, did not help the tension in their rather rigid situation, especially when they knew the reasoning behind it.

It was distressing, and Eddie couldn't stand the suffocation any longer, he was distraught.

"Richie, we stopped by your house yesterday"

His breath audible hitched and all eyes were on him. His heart was pounding. They couldn't know, but apparently they did. It didn't take much based on the way Eddie began to weave his arms around his side or the wat he saw the smaller boy's wide, earthy eyes, gaze at him with a dark look of sadness and pity for him to guess.

He couldn't imagine how it would've gone down.

The six ansty Losers wait outside on the gravel path as Eddie marches to the door and hesitantly rings the bell. He takes a step back and they gather together with their bikes by their sides, staring at the unmoving object until footsteps approach. Hope glimmers in their eyes and they grow expectant, anticipating Richie's appearance, okay and calm as they wish he could be, but of course this couldn't go their way.

The rectangular wooden slab is pushed forward a few inches, halted by a chain as the foul stench of alcohol seeps through the small gap. A disgruntled, tired-looking woman stands in front of them, grasping the door frame and glaring down at the group. 

Most young children would find it menacing when greeted with such a look from an adult, but Eddie was intent on finding Richie, and so he began to speak.

"Sorry for bothering you, but did Richie come home earlier?" He looks up, meeting her gaze as her expression shrivels in disgust.

"You're the Kaspbrak boy, right? I'm surprised you'd want to find that faggot."  
Before Eddie could rant about addressing his friend like that, his burning rage was cut off by something arguably more troubling.

"He doesn't live here anymore, I didn't raise a pansy."

That concluded the events, the losers being left outside, shocked, dazed and more concerned than ever. As much as they were desperate to find their friend, the sky was growing dark, and they needed to let that sink in.

Apparently the time it took had concluded though, as Richie sat in shocked silence. His gaze darted everywhere all at once and his fingers and legs bounced in an effort to disperse the nervous bundle of feelings he had trapped inside of him. This was it, they were done, they hate him they hate him they hate hi-

"It's okay, 'chee" Eddie softly whispered beside him, placing his warm palm on his knee to still its anxious shaking. Richie sighed and his eyes glazed over.

"So you know i got kicked out?"

A series of solemn nods began in the group, and the hypochondriac just held on tighter, like he didn't want the raven-haired boy to leave him again.

"I'll see what i can do, Rich" Stan muttered softly, "My parents are strict, but they care about you as much as upwe do." his gaze intense with promise as he nodded to his friend.

"And if that doesn't work out, my aunt wouldn't mind you staying for a while" Beverly piped in, her smile as soft as ever.

"Plus, if you need anything in the long term, my grandma has a bunch of spare rooms available, and she thinks you're nice so...." Ben added shyly.

Richie could honestly cry, and he was beginning to  
"Well let me know how it goes, Stanthony" His voice grew weak and broke with his relieved tears, and he wondered how he could've been so scared, as from beside him he hears a faint whisper of uncharacteristic softness for Eddie.

"We love you, Trashmouth."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that's it.  
> That's the fic.  
> I'm so sorry.  
> That ending was so cringey imma sCREAM  
> Buuuut  
> If you want this to be a series of richie angst, lemme know  
> And if you have any idead you wanna share, hmu on insta @ghosty.ghost.fork uwu  
> Thank you for reading, i hope it didn't suck :')

**Author's Note:**

> I'm gonna regret this but thanks for reading 💖


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